


A Spell To Lose Your Virginity (find me)

by neuroglam



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, M/M, This turned out fluffier than I intended, Writing is funky in places, i am going through an m-dash phase i am so sorry, time travel and other time fuckery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-11 04:42:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15307707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neuroglam/pseuds/neuroglam
Summary: Yuri wakes up in the middle of the night because he needs to piss—and promptly does a double-take.  There’s a naked, baby-faced teen lying on top of his covers and drooling on his spare pillow. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me," he grumbles. Of all people he could dream about, of course it would be Victor.





	A Spell To Lose Your Virginity (find me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spiritoftruthandlies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiritoftruthandlies/gifts).



Two years ago, a little after Victor’s divorce, Yakov went to Victor's flat and banged on the front door with his walking stick. There was a screaming match as Yakov emptied vodka down the sink. A stumbling Victor was driven off to a rehab two hours outside Piter.

Last fall, Yakov got Victor enrolled in the Lesgaft. And a bit after that, still looking tired and older than his thirty-nine years, Victor started showing up at the Yubileyni. On Tuesdays, he takes notes and has deep discussions with Yakov. On Thursdays, he tortures the juniors with Lilia.

This doesn’t concern Yuri much—at twenty-seven, he knows the grind. He doesn’t need Yakov’s constant supervision. But it rankles how, after all the flaky shit Victor did, everyone’s still bending over backwards to give him a second chance. Must be nice, getting to do whatever you want ‘cause you know people will swoop in to fix your life.

Yuri knows that he won’t have the luxury, hard work or not. It’s not like Yakov’s pulling strings to get _Yuri_ into university.

Otabek says it’s because Yuri is capable and people trust him to take care of himself.

Yuri’s just mad at Victor.

 

Yuri wakes up in the middle of the night because he needs to piss. He turns the bedside lamp on and rubs his face—then he does a double-take: There’s a naked, baby-faced teen on top of his covers, drooling on his spare pillow. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me," he grumbles. Of all people, of course he’d dream about Victor.

Yuri pokes him a little, with just the tip of a finger. Seems real enough. Warm. There's so much fucking hair, pretty and sleek and silver-blond, sticking to Victor’s sweaty naked back. Developed glutes—a skater’s ass. Ditto, thighs. (Shaved? No hair). Further down, Victor’s feet are a mangled mess of half-healed blisters.

Yuri sits up and blinks. When he looks down at Victor again, it’s at his face: his eyelashes, cheekbones, lips. It’s amazing how much detail he can see. How vivid the dream is.

Yuri takes a deep breath. Thoughts come, all at the same time. Did Yuri wake up from one dream to another? (Does this even work outside Inception?).

Also, he does need to piss.

Also, purple nail polish. (Glittery. Chipped.)

Oh well. Yuri gets up—Masha, curled up on the other side of Victor, doesn’t look the least bit worried. He stumbles to his toilet half-asleep and aims in the vague direction of the bowl. If you piss in a dream, won’t you piss yourself in real time? The stream hits porcelain. Too late: he might as well finish. If he's pissed himself, he’ll find out in the morning.

He shakes it out, flushes, and makes back for bed. At the door, he stops. If Victor’s really a dream, he might be gone. Yuri doesn’t want him gone. Surprising, that. These days, real life Victor just makes him annoyed and kind of uncomfortable.

It’s a dream anyway, he tells himself and pushes the door open. Young Victor is awake, sitting (naked) in the middle of the bed and scratching Masha the traitor—a coil of white on his crossed (naked) legs—under the chin.

Yuri stops in his tracks, silent. He’d like to remember this. This feeling. This Victor. But Victor looks up too fast. Their eyes meet, Victor’s widen. Then his grin spreads, broad and sweet just like on the pictures (chipped fingernails, glittery purple in Masha’s white fur).

"Oh, wow!” Hair spills over Victor’s bony shoulders, down his arms. “You're so hot!"

Eh?

"Is your dick large?"

Victor looks so excited, his eyes so wide and innocent. Not a bad dream, Yuri thinks.

"Wanna see?" he says. It’s a dream, bad porn dialogue is fine.

At the raspiness in Yuri’s voice, baby Victor’s eyes widen more. “Wow, I can’t believe it worked!”  His tongue dart out to wet his lips, his chest rises and falls as his breathing quickens. His eyes travel over Yuri.

It’s a dream. Yuri figures he can gawk back.

On his way to bed, he tugs his t-shirt over his head. "What worked?"

Baby Victor looks up through his lashes. Yuri can feels his eyes on his naked chest. With one hand, he gathers all his hair and sweeps it over just one shoulder, leaving the other bare. With the other, he keeps petting the cat. Little shit knows exactly what he's doing, Yuri thinks.

"Earth to Victor,” he says. “Why are you in my bed?"

Victor’s hand stills. "Y-you know my name? But I—"

Yuri tries to relax his hands, to soften his face. "You what?" He asks gently.

Victor looks down. "...tried to go far enough into the future."

Yuri sits on his side of the bed. He doesn’t ask baby Victor—how old is he now? Thirteen? Fourteen?—what made him think that in the future he’d be recognized _less_.

"I, um." Victor looks up and tucks his hair behind one ear. His fingers are long and bony. "Um. I did this magic spell?”

“Oh?”

“For losing your virginity." Victor’s cheeks go pink.

“Right.” Yuri is amused.

"Like, when it's the full moon, you’re supposed to put some rose quartz and a four-leaf clover into a glass of vodka overnight,” he babbles. “Then you drink half the vodka and you pour the rest on the paper where you wrote your wish.” His fingers (purple nailpolish, chipped) wave in the air as he speaks, just like real Victor’s do when he’s half-spaced-out and trying to explain something. Feels kinda like being in The Matrix.

“Um, so I forgot to say, you’re supposed to write what kind of guy you wish for thirteen times,” Victor says, “And then you burn it. To send the message to the universe."

Yuri tries not to giggle. This ditzy, earnest (virgin) Victor is adorable. "So what kind of guy did you wish for?"

Victor looks down at Masha. “I asked for someone hot with a big dick,” he says. "And for someone who’s nice and who likes me."

Yuri’s chest fills with… something. “Well.” He reaches for Victor. “It worked.” He touches Victor’s shoulder, the back of his neck, buries his fingers in the hair—because just reaching over when your heart swells is allowed in this dream where Victor magicked himself to Yuri. (Someone nice.)

Baby Victor leans into Yuri’s touch and looks up, right into Yuri’s eyes. "You like me, don't you?" He’s quieter now, a little uncertain. (Shit. Yuri didn’t need to know this—what it feels like when Victor lets himself be vulnerable with him, looking to him for comfort.)

"I like you." Yuri says. It doesn’t catch on the lump in his throat, so he smiles. "I have a big dick, too."

Victor holds his eyes. Then his grin spreads out, his eyes glitter.

“I like you,” Yuri says again, drunk on how he can. Baby Victor keeps nuzzling his hand, keeps looking at him, waiting for him to make the first move. Yuri swallows. It’s a dream, he tells himself. Plus, of all the possible hook-ups, boyfriends—the fucking husband—Victor magicked himself _here_. Yuri shouldn’t doubt himself.

He can give Victor what he wants. He’ll be the best fuck—the best _lover_ —in Victor’s fucking _life_ , and Victor will remember this, remember _him_ —

(Except old Victor is at Yubileyni every Tuesday and Thursday, and has nothing but a friendly greeting for Yuri)

(Except Victor forgot—)

It’s a dream, silly, Yuri tells himself. There was nothing to remember in the first place.

Right.

"You didn’t finish,” Yuri says.

Victor tilts his head, a little dazed. “Huh?”

“You were telling me about the guy with the big dick who likes you.” Yuri leans in, breathes in the smell of Victor's hair. “...about your wish,” he says next to his ear.

Under his hand, Victor’s shoulders tense. It stings—a well-buried but familiar sting, Victor’s rejection. _It’s just my own subconscious_ , Yuri tells himself. _A dream. Me chewing on my Victor issues_.

Still, he pulls back. Victor’s eyes follow him, wistful—he’s _nervous_ , Yuri realizes. He’s young, it’s his first time and he did some kind of magic to get himself to the future.

He’s just nervous.

“The universe picked me out for you, remember? You wished for a good guy who likes you, and here you are.” Yuri reaches again, but not for Victor—for the cat in his lap. “I’ll treat you right,” he says and pets her. His hand rests over Victor’s (thin fingers, chipped purple), still buried in her fur. “I’ll kiss you and we’ll cuddle and you’ll tell me everything you asked for.” Yuri’s hand strokes the cat, then strokes Victor, calm and measured, like Yuri’s voice. “And then I’ll give you what you want.” He keeps petting. “Exactly what you want.”

They both look down at Masha; at Victor’s pink (virgin) dick as it rises, peeking between Victor’s belly and Masha's soft white fur.

“Will you tell me?” Yuri bends back to Victor’s ear; his hand pets, and pets, just the cat, just Victor’s hand. “What do you want?”

"I wanted—" Victor swallows. The hand that’s petting Masha inches closer and closer to him and Victor can tell. "Fuck, I'm—" His shoulders tense up again, his hips jut out. "My dick is touching your cat!"

"Hmm."

“Please—” Victor tilts his hips—into the cat, forward, towards Yuri’s hand.

“Victor—Vitya—tell me—”

"I wanted him to kiss me."

"And?"

Victor looks at Yuri, leans in. Hair brushes against Yuri's arm. "And, everything." He looks right up through his fucking lashes. "I... everything."

“Everything” is fine with Yuri. He’s spent most of his teen years wishing he could give everything to Victor, if only Victor would take it.

He stops petting Masha and cups Victor’s jaw, his thumb slides across Victor’s cheekbone (so soft, does he even shave yet); their eyes meet and Victor’s eyes are grey, grey, grey, Yuri knows those eyes, more wrinkles now but still Victor’s, and fuck who was he kidding—

Victor makes a noise in his throat and jumps, sending Masha running; hands find skin, Yuri’s got a naked (naked, naked) teen in his lap, hard dick touching his belly chests melding fist pulling Yuri’s hair—and they kiss, Victor breathes out when their lips touch

Yuri breathes in

so soft

One of Yuri's hands goes to support Victor’s head, the other keeps him close, and Yuri might have promised everything, but he wants this, the fingers digging in his back, the hand tight in his hair, the slight body trembling, the tiny gasps—how Victor’s lashes rest on his cheeks when he closes his eyes how their lips touch, their tongues

It’s more than Yuri thought he’d ever have and he’s drinking it up, his heart open so wide it hurts like he now knows it never stopped.

“Please,” Victor says and never opens his eyes.

Yuri pulls back, both hands supporting woozy Victor, and takes a deep breath to ground himself. They don’t stay apart long—Victor’s pressing into Yuri, rubbing his (pink) dick into his belly; Yuri’s supporting his head again, kissing his eyebrows, his closed eyes.

“Please,” Victor says as he opens his eyes and grabs for purchase; he winds both his arms around Yuri’s neck and puts his head on Yuri’s shoulders (tiny gasps of breath on Yuri’s neck), and Yuri takes pity—he takes one hand down for Victor to fuck into, clutching—

“Hold on,” Yuri murmurs and flips them over. He’d planned to do more, kiss Victor all over, do it right, but all he can do is scramble down and take Victor’s dick in his mouth, with just a moment to taste the salt and grab onto his hips before Victor’s moaning, an arm thrown over his head, and coming into Yuri’s mouth.

It goes everywhere—Yuri’s hair, his chest, the bedsheets—but it doesn’t matter. Yuri sucks him through it, softer and softer, until Victor’s hips finally still. The world starts to come back—his own dick, pressed into the mattress through his pajama pants, the smell of sex, Victor’s chest rising and falling as his breath subsides, sweaty hair stuck to his face.

Yuri props himself up on his arms and scoots up to lie next to him. Victor’s still breathing hard, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Yuri smooths a strand of hair away. “It’s OK,” he says quietly. “I got you. I’m here. Open your eyes and let me hold you.” Victor does and looks up to Yuri—and Yuri absolutely hates it. Victor’s eyes shouldn’t be full of this much loneliness, this much longing. It’s wrong—so wrong. “Come here.” His voice breaks on it.

Victor does, head on Yuri’s chest now, but still clawing into Yuri’s back, still clutching him like someone would come and take him away.

“Hey,” Yuri says and pets his hair, aware of his own dick between their bodies. “We’re not done. Shush now. Shush, it’s okay...” he keeps petting as Victor sniffles. “This is not the last of it. We’ll do more tonight and… Victor, Victor look at me.” He smooths some hair, now horribly messy, away from Victor’s face. “Look at me.”

Victor takes a deep breath and disentangles himself, wiping his face with a hand before he looks up.

“We have more time tonight,” Yuri says. “We’ll do everything. I promise.”

Victor’s eyes are red. “Please don’t go,” he says, his voice small. “Please don’t leave me I don’t want to-”

“I’m not gonna leave you,” Yuri says, his voice even and steady. “Listen, I know old you—it’s not a coincidence you ended up here when you did that spell. When I said I like you—I _like_ like you, and have for a very long time. The old you, too, okay?” He’s fucking bald, he’s got wrinkles, and he’s an utter mess, but god help me I do, Yuri doesn’t say. “When you grow up, you just come to me. I’ll wait for you. I promise I will.”

“Really?” Victor says, his eyes still red and wide.

“Really. Now come up here and kiss me.”

 

The morning after, Yuri wakes up sore all over, and marvels. It was such a vivid dream—teenage Victor, needing, shaking. Doing his best to awkwardly suck Yuri. Whining as Yuri fingered him, grasping onto Yuri’s arms as Yuri bottomed out into him. Sweat, messy hair, Victor’s hole quivering as Yuri pulled out. Lube and come leaking onto the sheets.

Pressing into Yuri, arms tight around Yuri’s chest, as Yuri lay on his side. “I love you, I’ll find you, I’ll never let you do.” Falling asleep still inside Yuri (Yuri’s wince as he disentangles himself and turn around to hold him.)

He blinks himself back to the present because Masha meows. She jumps on the bed and pads up his chest to butt noses and rub her face into his. It’s time to get up and feed her. Yuri absently pets her head as he shifts—

—and he’s feeling it. His ass is tender, like it gets when he finally gets some after a while. He looks and there’s a scratch on his right arm. The sheets are messy like they only get after sex and—

There’s a hair. A long, silver hair. And another one. One on the pillow, one on the duvet. Either Yuri’s still dreaming, or—

His alarm rings. It’s shrieky and shrill as always—Yuri purposely chose it so it’s utterly obnoxious and impossible to sleep through.

Masha meows again, this time from the door to the bedroom. Right. Sleeping or not, he’s got a cat to feed.

He pours himself a glass of water, pisses and showers and brushes his teeth, all the way feeling… unsettled. Detatched. There’s another scratch on the side of his chest, and his t-shirt is on the floor where he left it yesterday night.

He makes coffee, opens his laptop. All is in order: the date’s the correct one, Americano tastes like crap. He calls Yakov even though it’s an off day, and Yakov, too, is grumpy as usual. Masha’s done with her meal and settles next to him to clean herself.

Yuri pinches himself because that’s what you do, but his ass still hurts.

“Am I in the fucking matrix?” he asks his cat, who only looks up briefly before she’s back to licking her leg.

By the time he’s finished his coffee, he’s made a decision. His neck is purple, he’s all scratched up like Masha’s been at him, and there’s come stains on his bedsheets. He’ll proceed like this is real.

Through coffee cup number two, he makes a plan.

Vodka is easy to get; they’ve got some at the corner store. The rose quartz comes from one of those street vendors with a long table of hippie silver jewellery. With the four-leaf clover, he must cheat: he can only find three-leaf ones so he takes one of those, adds an extra leaf, and glues it all on a piece of cardstock. Convincing enough, if you don’t look too close.

He puts it all in a gift bag (from the hippie store). Then he does a double-take, pulls the card out, and writes, _You’re the biggest idiot ever_ on the back. He puts it back in the bag, satisfied.

That done, he heads to Yubileyni.

Paradoxically, not knowing whether he’s awake comes quite helpful on the way there. He’s on a bus, the bus takes twenty minutes, and that’s more than enough time to tell himself things like, _Maybe when he saw who it was he was like, oh hell no_ , and, _This happened to him before he happened to me; if he wanted me he would have said something_.

When people don’t want you, you should respect their decision.

But if he’s sleeping—if this is all still just a dream—then what’s the harm? He’d be embarrassed, he’d wake up, and the world would go on, with real Victor none the wiser. Even if dream Victor truly isn’t interested, Yuri is still better off trying, even if it’s so his dream self can work through his issues and get over Victor.

He puts one foot in front of the other as he gets through the door and winds down corridors. Terrified juniors nod at him as he walks by. He makes straight for the ice—that’s where Victor is, this time on Tuesdays.

He finds Victor at the boards, watching an eleven-year-old called Dima and making notes in a black leather notebook.

“Hey old man,” Yuri yells as he approaches. “I’ve got something for you.”

Victor takes the bag like a person who’s trying not to stare too hard at Yuri’s bruised neck. Yuri gives a nudge with his chin: _go on, then_. The vodka comes out first, then the card.

“You’re the greatest idiot I know, by the way,” Yuri says.

Victor looks at Yuri’s attempt at a four-leaf clover then flips the card over. He raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, it says so here.”

It’s the rose quarts that does it. “Oh my god.” Victor’s eyes widen; his hand flies for his mouth. “Oh my god! I—” He looks at Yuri’s neck again, then at the scratch on Yuri’s arm that Yuri helpfully displays. The bag falls to the floor, Victor’s hands cover his face. “I thought it was a dream; I thought it was because of all the vodka—”

He stays like that for a bit. Then he looks up at Yuri. “I didn’t think it was real, I didn’t even think, Yurka, you don’t know how many times I tried—”

Yuri smiles at how Victor babbles, at how his hands wave. It’s comforting how some things never change.

“I never even thought to… Yurka are you sure?”

Yuri spreads his arms open.

“But I’m—”

“I know exactly what you’re like. I told you I still liked you, didn’t I? And that you should come to me.”

“Yurka, it happened in a dream, it’s all… I didn’t think it was real,” Victor says again, defeated. “And it was so long ago—”

Yuri sighs. “You’re an idiot, yes.” He swallows down all the feelings—the ones he always gets when he inevitably finds that Victor hasn’t considered him that way at all. Hasn’t even bothered to look.

“Well, think about it,” Yuri says. “If you decide you want to see where it goes, let me know. You know where to find me.” He turns around to go. “And don’t drink that vodka!” He calls across his shoulder.

“What vodka!” Yakov bellows from behind. “You give that to me right here!” He hobbles towards Victor, as fast and determined as his walking stick can carry him. “And you!” He turns to Yuri, and Yuri has the actual experience of being shouted at by an old man who waves a cane at him. “What kind of an idiot gives vodka to a drunk!”

Obediently, Victor hands over the bottle.

Yakov peers at it. “You could’ve at least bothered to get something decent!” He uncaps it and takes a swig.

On his either side, they laugh.

 

When Yuri gets home, his apartment is still a mess. Everything still smells like sex, and there's still hair on the bed sheets.

 _Yur, are you really sure_ , Yuri's cell phone pings. _I'm old. I have issues. I'm really not a very good catch_.

 _Sure if you are, old man_. Yuri writes back. _Get your ass over here when you're done tonight, and I'll show you_.

He opens his fridge, already thinking of what groceries he's got, what he'll need, what he can make.

Leaning on the door frame to his bedroom, he looks at his messy bed and texts his address.

He doesn't change the sheets.

 

 

 

 

 

 

[ i ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15307707#sdendnote1anc) The Lesgaft is this [ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lesgaft_National_State_University_of_Physical_Education,_Sport_and_Health ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lesgaft_National_State_University_of_Physical_Education,_Sport_and_Health). It’s in St. Petersburg.


End file.
